


Image of the Lover (Destroyed)

by Irrelevancy



Series: Pride is not the word [3]
Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Lesbian Character, fem!Hak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:04:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5715373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrelevancy/pseuds/Irrelevancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The world shatters at midnight.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Hak is a woman, but nothing changes; Soo-Won still betrays, Yona's still heartbroken, and Hak is still in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Image of the Lover (Destroyed)

  _You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together  
__to make a creature that will do what I say  
__or love me back.  
__I’m not really sure why I do it, but in this version you are not  
__feeding yourself to a bad man  
__against a black sky prickled with small lights._

Richard Siken

* * *

The world shatters at midnight.

Soldiers and the glint of swords, Yona on the ground— Hak flies forward like an animal. Her spear shreds evil, chomps through their necks and chests and ribs.

And Soo-Won stands there, eyes and hair like the moon, and everything is going cold. Hak feels her heartbeat slowing with dread, and her entire body with all its coiled muscles is becoming stone. Yona on the ground, Soo-Won standing.

“Ha– _Hak_.” 

How easy it is to get on her knees for Yona; Hak folds like a river. There are long tragedies in the Princess’s tears, her crumpled mouth and lids— Hak can’t quite read it all. She can, however, see the doubt, the fear. Hear the question.

“You’re… on my side?”

The edges are flaking apart. Despite having been preparing for the worst all day, Hak sees now she hadn’t even _understood_ what could be the worst. This is the worst. Yona on the ground, terrified. Soo-Won standing, cold. Hak calls Soo-Won _Lord_ as a joke, as a plea, for Soo-Won to _snap the fuck out of it, whatever he’s doing,_ because Yona is scared and honestly, Hak is too. Hak is scared because it feels like the very air of the palace is shattering, and all the edges are razor-sharp. Everything Hak hears— _servant, His Majesty Soo-Won, sent him to hell, ask Princess Yona_ — is slicing into Hak’s teeth and bones.

Hak can’t think.

So she pounces.

She attacks like she’s begging, which she isn’t above doing, especially when it comes to Soo-Won and Yona. She attacks with the intent of knocking Soo-Won’s sword away, but when did Soo-Won’s grip get so firm? Hak has never fought Soo-Won seriously before, and Soo-Won’s commitment to each blow is startling. 

Murmurs tear through the soldiers (the _traitors_ ) when they realize the woman standing before them is _the_ Thunderbeast, that Soo-Won is taking this battle as seriously as he would a war. Hak is still trying to understand, trying to match the familiar face in front of him to— murder, coup, status.

 _Hurting Yona._ The very thought is absurd. Hak is always the one teasing and messing with Yona. Soo-Won is— not. Soo-Won is not the cold glint of moonlight on steel, he is supposed to be _kind._ He is supposed to be the _prince_ to Yona’s _princess._ Emotions buffet Hak’s mind: jealousy, heartbreak, indignation. _Anger_.

And Hak goes angry like a tiger. She does not roar to scare, she speaks _quiet,_ padding killer paws, her words a blade at Soo-Won’s throat. (Because despite the eight, ten blades at her neck, Hak is still in control. _Raijuu_ reigns the thunderstorm _._ )

“I thought I could leave the princess in your care, if it was you.”

Soo-Won proves her wrong.

* * *

Later, in the woods, Hak has one absurd thought.

 _Maybe this isn’t the worst._ Perhaps even, _maybe something good can come out of this._

Her selfishness strikes like a coiled cobra— venomous and twisted like one as well. How can she want the Princess even now? How can she take comfort, even _pleasure_ in the way the Princess’s fingers curl tight into Hak’s sleeve?

The golden hairpin pricks the sensitive skin at Hak’s side, hidden in her vest. She hopes it drew blood.

If anything, running through the wilderness like this, Hak is made even more aware of the gap between her world and Yona’s. The princess and her soft skin, trembling knees— why, she didn’t even know what _leeches_ are. Hak though, Hak is covered in mud and congealed blood, has all the good will of a gnarled branch tangled in thorns. She holds them aside for Yona, the barbs scoring tough skin. Yona walks straight forward, her hand cold and clammy in Hak’s, even the smallest speck of dirt incredibly obvious on her pale cheeks, her neck.

When Yona doesn’t come back ( _from the bathroom— hah, as fucking if_ ), Hak is ready to fell trees, splinter the earth. Instead, she hunts; she zones into tracks in the mud, broken branches, brushed-aside grass all outlining a clear and undeniable path to Yona. Hak’s a goddamn _predator_ , and Yona’s doe-eyed, terrified, slim little thing. Evil things in the night circle and prowl after her; Hak, teeth bared, feels like one of them, and for a second her heart _rends_ with blinding, exquisite hate.

Hate for Yona, who is so frustratingly vulnerable; Hak wants to shake her by the neck. Hate for Soo-Won, the catalyst; Hak wants to flay him open, crush his ribs.

Hate for herself, because she still wants to kiss Yona, trembling lips to the delicate skin of her neck. Because she still wants to beg for Soo-Won to come back, wherever his mind’s gone. Because all she wants is to trace her exact steps back down the mountain, into the castle, toe-to-heel stepping backwards praying all the while for time to rewind. To when? Well, Hak is nothing but a pragmatist, so one clear moment comes to mind from just that morning: a friendly hug, a shoulder bump, Soo-Won smiling the same as ever, still Hak’s best friend. Hak is still unfurling that moment in her memory, searching for the shadow of betrayal in the curve of Soo-Won’s lips, the tightness of his grip.

And what would Hak do, if time could rewind to that moment? Well, maybe she’d ask— plea, beg, there’s really very little difference— for an explanation, some sort of insight to this whole mess. Maybe she’d let the red overtake her vision and slit Soo-Won’s throat then and there, Yona’s screams of terror be damned (she’d be _saving_ Yona).

Or maybe she’d confess. Pull Soo-Won to some quiet corner, pull him close and whisper the secret she’s smothered in her heart all this time— _I’m in love with Yona._ Maybe her voice would shake with the impossibility of the admission, maybe she would have to blink back tears.

And maybe Soo-Won, who still loved her then, would _let Yona be._ Would have taken extra care to not let Yona find out, for Hak. Would have managed to keep the whole thing a secret, even from Hak, and Soo-Won would go on to become king, Yona his queen, Hak their sword, their secret shadow.

…But, well, there is little sense in wishful thinking ( _nothing but a pragmatist_ ). In a painfully familiar move, Hak seals this wish away, leaving only the hate. Then she seals the hate away, in a different compartment, more in her belly than in her heart. She sweeps Yona off her feet ( _wishes_ , seals it away; rinse and repeat), and feels the hate burn in her guts, aching for a war. And nature listens, and sends the vipers. Hak welcomes the rush of venom, the burn, the almost-paralysis. Another (less fucked-in-the-head) person might have seen it as a sort of divine punishment— not Hak. Hak recognizes it for what it was: a reminder. A reminder that she is, at best, an animal, mired in swamp sludge, feral teeth grinning; she is part of the food pyramid. Sure, she stands at the summit, but there is still aching miles of sky above her, where there be dragons and Yona and other such divinities. Hak has blood under her nails, mud in her veins.

“Princess,” she says, and breathes easier, this air polluted by baseness. “Hang on to me, I don’t care what I have to do.”

Then, a bitter flare of fire in her gut, and the words that come out as much a statement as a demand, as a plea and a prayer:

“ _Use_ me _._ ” 

“So that you can _live_.”

Yona’s eyes clear. She sees Hak for the first time since— _Yona on the ground_ — since. The fire in Hak’s belly smothers quick; just a simple look douses the anger. Ah, Hak has it bad. But it's alright, if this is what it takes. Yona, like Hak herself, could not possibly be expected to let go of the object of her affections in the course of a single evening, no matter how terrible the incident. Hell, _Hak_ hasn’t let go of Soo-Won either, a venomous viper twined around her thoughts. Hak gives Yona back the hairpin; the tip, illuminated briefly in the moonlight, is speckled with Hak’s blood. This is alright. Hak keeps her wish simple, gathers all her status as an apex predator and _wills_ for nature to play along.

_Let her live. Let her live._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm having a much harder time following canon plotting, for some reason. I want to write the dragons with fem!Hak though, real bad, so here's to hoping I manage!
> 
> Thank you for the lovely comments on the previous installments; they keep me going.
> 
> Opening quote is from  "Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out," my new favorite poem.


End file.
